


Burial

by The_Apocryphal_One



Series: Love Without Memory (Kamunami Week 2017) [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Angst, Drabble, F/M, Flower Crowns, yes i somehow made flower crowns angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 04:39:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9702494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Apocryphal_One/pseuds/The_Apocryphal_One
Summary: As he weaves the flowers together, motions unconscious and unprompted, Izuru tries to remember.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Alrighty, here is the first of my contributions for Kamunami Week (with some Hinanami)! Prompts are Flower Crown, Max Affection, Stargazing, Boats, Co-Op, Sacrifice/Death, Rebirth, Rain, and Hope. Since I was busy almost all of these are all drabbles, 500-1000-ish words each, but I couldn't let this week go by without contributing. Most of these will be fluffy, with the occasional angst.

His eyes are distant as he works, unfocused; he's trying so badly to reach for the memories that aren't there anymore. But it's as difficult as trying to hold air. Even he, with all his talent, can do no more than grasp fruitlessly, occasionally being rewarded with a sight or sound or smell for his efforts.

Like now— _sunlight on a garden—her giggle, light and bell-like—his heartbeat stumbling—her eyes sparkling as she fixes a crown of flowers on his head—_

Izuru grunts as pain knocks against the inside of his skull. The snatches of memory retreat back into the deep recesses of his mind. He reaches after them, but they're already gone; slowly, his mental hand retracts, empty.

It's illogical. He already knew it was impossible, yet he still tried. He supposes that's the "hope" she'd shown him; the will to attempt to overcome in the face of defeat.

 _"For you, anything is possible,"_ she'd gasped out, the words a bit gargled with blood.

She was wrong. And she was right. He can't remember, not really, but he can still _feel._ That alone is monumental. He can _feel_ again, and even this, this hollow gape in his chest, this unbearable feeling of _loss,_ is better than the nothingness before.

How strange, to miss something—some _one_ —so deeply and not even remember why.

His eyes drift down to the flowers in his hands, half-woven together into an incomplete circlet. He'd found the garden entirely by his luck and his deductions, letting instinct trace his footsteps back to where he _thought_ he'd been with her before. The flowers there had changed with the seasons, carnations and cosmos instead of hydrangea and lavender, but he'd plucked several nonetheless before leaving.

Izuru can't explain why he'd had that urge to go there, or why even now he's creating such a useless thing as a flower crown. He just _does_. It's an unexpected, unexplained occurrence, one of many that has happened to him lately. All irregular with only one common variable: her. A mystery he will never get the chance to solve.

Elegant fingers tie off the last knot, and he gives a light tug, ensuring the stems will neither break nor fall apart. It holds; good.

Then he turns to the open coffin next to him, where Nanami's body is laying inside. He's cleaned all the blood off her and dressed her in a white gown and carefully positioned her limbs so that she lays with her hands clasped on her chest, eyes shut. It's another thing he can't understand—she's not _alive_ anymore, and no one else is attending but him, what's the point in putting effort into making her look nice?—but leaving her like that, bloodied and broken, had made some part of him ache and weep in protest.

She deserved better.

Gently, tenderly, Izuru places the finished garlands atop her head. The effect is instantaneous; for a moment she almost looks as if she is merely sleeping.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: First day of the week, with a prompt as cute as "flower crowns", and I go and turn it into morbid angst. I…I'm sorry.


End file.
